


White Glass Gallery

by MilkBrain



Category: Original Work, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Gen, JJBA OCs, Original Character(s), Other, Wow! OC bullshit!!, jjba fanpart, ”it was all cringe?” always was
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24732934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkBrain/pseuds/MilkBrain
Summary: " Broken glass, smoking ash, I guess that's what we are. "Somewhere, across time, space, and the universe- Is perhaps a timeline where two certain people had the best case scenario. With the wheels of time turning as ever as they did. That was in the 1890s.Now, generations later- Exist their descendants. Two young men, both living different journeys, but like their ancestors: Their paths now converge to seal the deal of destiny. One written into the universe with blood, spirit, tears and determination. One from the East, escaping from a gilded cage of expectations and mental struggle, and one from the West, who wishes to keep the ones he loves safe, and to achieve a lofty dream.Both have lived in their own fantasy world of their own design for some time- But now must face a task that sits on the shoulders of the world while taking their first steps into adulthood.To face a cult that threatens the lives of millions, with each member harnessing abilities that were once only considered to be the stuff of myths and legends.The bizarre adventure begins once again on a cool night in spring on the city streets of Venice...
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Family Friends

All quiet on the western front, as they’d say. As quiet as a residential hull of Venice could be in the middle hours of the night, lit by an amber hue that reflected off the murky water that once held tourists and locals alike afloat upon canals that rose and fell with the tides, gently lapping against the ancient stones that lined them.

The sound was quickly being associated with quite possibly, truly, maybe even the world’s most horribly disappointing nineteenth birthday a young man could ever have. 

It would’ve otherwise be a perfect day, in his personal opinion. That is- If things went to plan. Something that was planned at the very start of the year, in fact.

4:55 PM, January fifth, it was dated. The phone screen glowed into the one open and tired eye of the device’s owner. And it read...

“Hey there! Long time, no see. Around your birthday, i’ll be selling some vacation homes in Italy, and can meet you in Venice for some bonding time! Hard to believe you’re an adult so fast. - Dad”

That man always made things so flowery and artificial even with his own offspring. Like trying to sell him something, as if he was an afterthought or just another client. Something that always made a sick feeling well and boil up inside his stomach. One of frustrated anger, tinted with the oily and oppressive feeling of disappointment.

So, what was one to do at about three in the morning to drown out such sounds and feelings? Ignore the passing of time like any other smart, young, just-entering-adulthood individual, and deal with it later. By...Binge eating a pick-up order from a sweets shop while watching episodes of a show that one would be meaning to catch up on from a tablet, keyboard cover and all.  
  
Curled in bed with the window open, all dark in the rental flat, and his phone thrown to the side, an index finger tapped onto the screen to open the familiar, dark-themed streaming app in which, ironically, the so-called father figure in this man's life paid for. Why would anyone feel bad for someone as spoiled as him? That sense of self awareness truly made that feeling of disgust in the pit of his stomach build higher and higher upon itself. 

It was a monkey's paw of a life.

And another type of sickness was stopped. Even if just for a moment.

"Welcome back, Armin!" The screen brightly showed, opening up to it's familiar list of recently watched titles and reccomendations. Even with the Italian internet connection, everything from back home seemed to load up just fine, and in a language he didn't tire himself out trying to read and comprehend...

Nothing new. It was still about ten in the morning back home. Definitely not the time for any new episodes of shows to air that the account's owner was interested in at the time. But the chosen name, and seeing everything he'd run back to provided a warmth that no blankets nor late spring heat could provide. A Sense of validation in it's own right, even from something so small.

Quickly, as the sleepless night marched on, Armin, or as the young man called himself, had enraptured himself once again in various images of heroes. Both animated, and live-action masked ones. Was this media made for someone much younger? Yes. Was it a bit odd to watch it alone while eating various Italian treats, including your birthday cake? Maybe.  
  
But it was a rare moment of solace for him.

The prince of Kakinomoto Luxury Realty.  
  
Armin.  
  
He was of average height. Last time there was a check-up, it was one-hundred and seventy-two centimeters, according to him. A Man of both East Asian and African American descent, with a somewhat androgynous face. The striking feature of such being a small pair of freckles under his left eye, which was of a deep brown color to match with the other, and rather dense eyebrows of an oval shape. 

To say the least- Almost anywhere he'd go, he'd stick out in a crowd just a bit more than others. His skin a shade of honey-dolce tan, and his top row of teeth having quite the obvious gap which impeded his speech in the slightest of ways. Dark, brownish-black and somewhat buoyant hair that ended in a natural, slight curl at the middle of his neck.

Not much could be said for his body. Nothing incredibly stunning, but, nothing shocking to someone uninitiated either. It was of average build, maybe a bit soft around the edges. Somewhere in the 'soft' or 'chubby' spectrum as many would place it. His shoulders evened out with his hip size, making his body a sort of 'rectangle' shape as some would put it. Small birthmarks of circular shape dotted his skin about his legs, arms, and lower body. Scars about his legs that hadn't faded, and had been around to the point where they simply felt like one's average skin again, put fell to be paler in the middle, yet darker about their edges.

About his shoulder, close to his neck, rested the strangest of mark of all.

A Small, yet, sizable birthmark in the shape of a star. One that would be hidden behind his clothing at most times. Apparently, such a thing hadn't existed on his father, but instead his mother who had been...Out of the picture for quite some time. All nineteen years of Armin's life, in fact. 

But why should one focus on that when there was fictional heroes to be watched? Discovering if this flake-laden and butter-rolled pastry had a chocolate or cream filling? Biting down into the soft, slightly sweet dough of many layers to figure out this mystery that apparently mattered so much to him- Everything had to be paused.  
  
Because there was a knock at the door.  
  
At first- It made Armin jolt. As if someone had snuck up on him. But that slight fear for only a second as his heart rate slowed to normal just turned into an aggravated annoyance. One would usually feel such a thing when interrupted during what they would consider a personal moment, while trying to make the best of things. He double-tapped his finger onto the glass screen of his tablet to pause whatever he had been watching at the time, rising out from the now somewhat crumb filled bed he had turned into his lounging space. Like some sort of single, recently divorced mother. Minus the wine and small dog.

He'd have to brush those off later if he didn't want to feel like an itchy wreck when he eventually did get to sleep.

And speaking of time..  
  
Who in the absolute hell would be knocking on a door, in a very specific location in Venice, on a specific floor, at exactly- What was now- Four in the morning?  
  
Caution had to be taken.  
  
As Armin came from the short hall, into the living room and kitchen of the flat, his fingers gripped a set of keys that sat upon the counter. He knew one was a house key, but, the rest had to do with utilities about the property. Not much he knew about the latter.

  
But between each finger- Sat the ends of the keys sticking out like a set of blunt claws, tucked away into the pocket of his somewhat heavy flannel pajama pants with an ironically whimsical, cute pattern. Moomintroll, was it? Some little white, round thing he'd always adored from childhood. One would be glad they made products like that for adults.  
  
The one thing about the door, unfortunately, was it’s sheer lack of a peephole. Just a solid plank with all the bits and bobbles a door would have. Wasn’t there some sort of law against a lack of those? Maybe even a security concern?

But there was the clear shadow of feet under the crack in the door, one that shown in the warm-tinted darkness of the flat as Armin gripped the keys in his pocket tighter with a slow turn of the knob, free hand opening the door halfway to see whoever was there.

...

It was a tall woman. Taller than him at least. Significantly darker skin, and eyes obscured by what looked like an expensive pair of sunglasses. No logo was visible, but the dark tinted plastic had so easily obscured the other figure’s eyes. In fact...Most of the clothing she wore didn’t have too many defining characteristics, at least amongst the people of this country. Trying to find a woman in a business-casual outfit with neutral, monochrome colors and sunglasses and heels? That could be anyone. Especially with no descriptors like a specific brand.

“Excuse me.”

She spoke. Her voice was clear, serious. Something that had Armin’s false bravado shrink back as the door was almost shut in front of the woman at it’s threshold. Only for the force to be stopped by something stronger, firmer. That woman’s hand practically boomed against the solid wood as she forced the door open against the smaller man her gaze was locked onto.

“I Have information in regards to your genetic background, past life experiences, and your set of skills. We will discuss them in detail.”

What was this ‘we’ part? This woman was already walking right into a flat Armin didn’t even own, pushing right past him, and closing the door all while overloading the boy with a myriad of information. 

“...How the hell do you know about me?”

The door shut slowly, the keys in Armin’s pocket now riddled with nervous sweat as he made his best attempt to conceal his makeshift weapon. The woman- Now fully inside- had neatly removed her sunglasses, tired, inky brown eyes with a touch of liner about them gazing right back to the younger man before her.

She was tall. Taller than Armin, at least. One could estimate at least one-hundred and eighty-seven centimeters. Her heels adding just a bit extra onto that. Five? Maybe. They were flat in nature. Not stilettos. Something someone experienced could run in, yet still look stylish.

Her hair was smooth, shiny. Relaxed from something natural, tied in a loose tail in the back with flowing curls. Her bangs brushed to the side in a professional manner. This neat arrangement would simply drop away, as a black hair tie was removed, the woman’s hair falling down slightly past her shoulders.

Was she...

No.

She was taking off her shoes, and unbuttoning the first two buttons on her blouse.

No. Fuck.

This stranger, of all people, was getting herself comfortable here. Dropping her damn bags which seemed to come out of nowhere on the floor next to the kitchen counter.

“Mona Castellanos. I Was send by the Speedwagon Foundation’s scouting and selection division after we reviewed some files on you, as well as public information. You’d be surprised on how much gets out with people in an internet age. Especially kids like you...”

...

What the hell was all this, then?


	2. Chapter 2

"You know- It was a lot harder to track you down since your social media was practically barren. Didn't expect someone of your age to not post so much. Usually, it's pretty easy to find people now. But, your phone company isn't so secure either." Mona, took it upon herself to slide herself onto the somewhat cheap couch despite the location and price of the flat. Whoever this was, didn't seem to actively want to harm Armin, nor anyone else in the area. The closest thing Armin could put the pieces of together in his brain was some sort of extension of the government. But that wasn't likely, since this seemed like such a private organization from the way things were laid out in front of him.

"Fact is- They've kept tabs on your family for a while. Your mom's side, specifically."

Armin didn't even know his mother, much less anything about extended family from either end. So getting this thrown at him was raising more questions and alarm bells than what Mona could've quite expected.

"I'm assuming you've kept up contact with her through some means? It's understandable anyone from her end would've holed on off from the world, especially with their history."  
  
"...Excuse me. First off- Why the fuck are you getting comfortable in a place my dad rented out for me? For my birthday?"

Mona, crossed one leg over the other. A Bag at her side opening as several files were removed and neatly placed on the table, each inside color-coded envelopes. Some transparent plastic, some opaque paper.

"Ah? Happy birthday, then. File said you were 'bout…Eighteen? Nineteen now, then? Unless we somehow got something wrong. That'll be a whole other kind of argument at the office…"

At the last sentence, Mona had trailed off, almost mumbling. Tracking people down like this was clearly just a normal, average, every day thing for this apparent foundation that woman was from. And it didn't sit right with Armin in any regards whatsoever. He sat across from her in the matching, somewhat round loveseat from the couch, coffee table between them covered in this apparent information all about Armin, who couldn't help but cringe with an expression of furrowed brows and a twitch of his left upper lip. From what he could see from here- Was more than enough information for someone to try and piece together a background for him.

School photos, family vacation photos, copies of report cards, copies of legal documentations. Even transcribed text and phone conversations. The biggest one sticking out to him- And had obviously been checked just recently- Was the one between Armin and his father. The one detailing the location he'd be residing within, what time he was supposed to be there, and when his father was apparently supposed to arrive.

"Honestly, I didn't expect you to look the way you do now. We originally tried one of those computer-generated aging…Things that they use with kids who go missing, but--"

Armin, had already unceremoniously dumped out a transparent green folder onto the glass, papers sliding together in a shifting motion that broke the ambient silence of the room. A Few smaller things fell out, too. Sticky notes, smaller pieces of paper clipped on with other such office supplies. The sign of someone who had been doing this for some time, but, wasn't too organized either. It was clear Mona was used to digital work.  
  
"Yeah, no. I Wouldn't look anything like whatever cop-computer thinks I would."

He was slowly becoming more and more annoyed, enraged. Less of a curiosity and more of a blind anger that padded the outside of a core of fear and confusion.

These photos of him from school days, as well as other such events, had started to bring back…Some amount of memory. Not good ones, in fact. To the point where after reading in silence for some time, across from a genuinely dumbfounded looking Mona: He had shoved the files in a disorderly and rude manner back over to her side of the table, many things shifting to the side or simply falling off the surface.

"Kid, I get looking at old photos of you sucks ass, it always does. But I spent time on those folders and keeping tabs on y--"

"I Don't want to get into any of this. What did you need all of this for, anyway? I'm normal. I'm just another guy."

The last part felt liberating to say, but at the same time, the feeling of disgust within himself had built up again from earlier in the night. Especially with seeing those old photos of him.

Because, if he was to be blunt: Those felt like a completely different person. Someone who kept himself inside and refused to let him out. He wouldn't shed tears, no. But describing the feeling in words would've most likely torn him up on the spot.

"…"

He shifted back into the chair, feigning eye contact as his gaze casted down onto the floor and away from the table's surface. His posture slouching, hands clasped together and elbows on his thighs, and head drooping.

"But you already know I didn't start like this. You read all the shit already. Can't keep that from you."

He inhaled sharply through his nostrils. There wasn't any use in hiding a damn thing from this woman, or whoever else she worked with. Who else knew about all the things Armin had tried to erase? Fuck if he'd know, and fuck if he'd ever find out. Exhale.

The reality was a cold one, but it hit just a bit harder now that he was forced to be face to face with it. Armin's gaze, and his head came back up to the older woman's own, as Mona had taken it about herself to try and reorganize the dumped folder. But he'd have to face this head on, if he ever wanted to so much as have a fighting chance with anyone who knew his past.

The only hope he had in his heart is that he'd be respected, and not treated like a running criminal for his own choice to express his true self.

"Right."

Mona, paused upon hearing Armin's voice again.

"What do we need to do, and why?" Armin questioned, hands now under his chin as he leaned in.

The shift to professionalism of some sort had surprised Mona.

But anyone could tell it was a sort of resignation to a very specific sort of emotion. One Mona knew well, but…Wouldn't speak of right now. At least not until she felt as though the time was right, and the two would hopefully grow closer over the course of her assignment.  
  
She cleared her throat.

"Armin. This is the last time I'll bring it up, but, you changed your first name, which shouldn't matter. But your second? You went to your dad's last name, instead. There's something of importance that you, and another individual we'll be meeting in due time need to accomplish. I'll explain it to you both then."  
  
That didn't answer much on Armin's end, but he was still intrigued.

"Says here your father's name is Satoshi Kakinomoto. Your mother's name is Johannah Joestar. And your name was…"

Mona made a vague hand motion.

Armin nodded.

"…Right, then. So…" Mona began again.

"See, with Johannah, we've been assigned to keep her end of the family sort of…Protected, per say. Same went for extended members. Since she was a United States citizen, our branch there didn't pick up on any children she may have had, and even then, you and her husband would've been out of our jurisdiction. Sadly, our Japanese branch is infinitesimally smaller, depends on prefecture, and swamped with the work we do."

So, it was some sort of private organization. That answered one question from Armin. An organization that worked in different countries, it sounded like. All handling different things, no doubt.

"…So, in short, we've been late. Really late with you. I'm not a bodyguard, but, more of a sort of escort to keep you in line. You're young, and from what we've picked up? You probably have no idea what you're doing. Johannah is still alive, yes, but we're not going to worry her with any specifics of this operation. For all your mom knows- This isn't happening, and you're just like any other average kid, like she planned."

The explanation took a bit to process for Armin. Much shorter than he expected, and right to a point. Questions were answered in a timely fashion as well. Had Mona done this before?   
  
"Miss Castellanos?" He asked, almost like a child asking a teacher a question in class.  
  
"Please, Armin. Call me Mona."

"…Mona. Yeah- Uh-" Armin swallowed some of the spit at the back of his throat to get his bearings just a little bit straighter. A Hand reached back to scratch the back of his head almost reflexively, an exhale escaping from between his lips.

"What kind of work do you do?" Armin made eye contact, finally. Either out of concern or genuine curiosity as his expression flatlined to one of just confusion, but not anger or fear. While his emotion was hard to pinpoint, it was still very much there and observable by anyone from the outside of Armin's own psyche.

"We keep things…Normal, per say. Keep people alive. Things that are too small for a country's government to handle, but, too big for just a community of people to handle out of nowhere. Usually by involving people with special talents, such as your own and mine."

The only thing Armin could possibly even think of was something out of a movie. Men in Black, was it? Did these people handle aliens, or something? Everything seemed way too official at this point to be a prank or some group of conspiracy theorists. But it was clear that Armin's sudden guest was now waiting for his input.

He couldn't help but slightly be taken aback at the respect shown even in this turbulent time.

“I- Uh. Wow…Just…” But Armin cleared his throat. He had to maintain some sort of aura. Either out of a sense of vulnerability, or something else he couldn’t quite place his finger onto.

“So you’re saying that my mediocre grades, and shitass excuses for running track and playing volleyball are worthy of being called ‘talents’ for some sort of super special organization? Listen, I get that you pretty much know everything about me or assume stuff off of records, but, I’m suggestin’ this might be a bit much for m-“

Mona cut him off, as in her hands she held a document. A Single piece of paper, but with many, many photos attached via tape and paperclips.

“In 2014 on July fifth, you were in a physical altercation with five female students- Who’s names have been legally withheld from us- located at a public bath. At exactly seven thirty, the electronic systems for the baths had detected a rapid temperature drop that compromised both plumbing systems.”

He fell silent. Armin’s fists balled up against his lap, and his jaw clenched.

“It was assumed that the injuries that those young women received were a combination of frostbite, and scratches from a blunt object. What was explained to the police? You had the luck of your father explaining every little thing away with an attorney who- In my opinion- was payed way too much. It boiled down to an act of ‘self defense’ and wasn’t brought up again. Made the rounds as some rumors, but…”

Mona’s eyes locked onto Armin’s again. Full of intent, ready to launch another bullet out of the chamber right into her subject’s very cortex.

“How do you explain frostbite? At a hot bath indoors in the middle of July? If i’m doing the calculations for you correctly, it was twenty-three celsius at the time of—“

“Would you shut up, already?”

Armin broke his silence, even standing up as his knuckles now felt the strain of pressing against his palms in their tight curl. This was an event he didn't ever want to talk about, or have brought up by anyone. Even he had blocked such events out of his mind for the past several years. But to have someone else just bust down any boundaries, and tell him what they think happened? That was something else entirely. It took Armin quite the effort not to run up and grab Mona's shirt collar, or resort to something violent and unreasonable.

The tension in the air became palpable. Armin's body tense, and Mona staring right up at him as if this was simply just like any other encounter.

"Right, then…Lets focus on what we actually need to, and why it matters so much. I Won't lie to you, and I'll keep things simple, blunt." The situation had already escalated, and Mona was well ready to defend herself if need be as she was seeing the rage building inside this unlikely…

"Stand user."

"…Excuse me?" His gaze softened. Either from confusion, or a faint but familiar spark from the back of his mind. Armin knew this was supposed to sound familiar for whatever reason, and yet…

"You have something inside you that did that, Armin. You have a set of abilities that we at the foundation assume are based within the 'emitter' group of skills that stand users have been logged as using. It's not uncommon, but, we have yet to know what it looks like. Or it's exact abilities. Even down to name."  
  
This was a bit much to process. Maybe too much. Especially at this hour. The situation was being defused by the sheer amount of confusion Armin was feeling at the current moment. Without realizing, his hands had released and fell at his sides. He had only noticed due to the attempt to get his bearings back. He had been staying up all night with copious amounts of sugar, after all. Not the brightest move.

"…Stand? You sayin' I'm some sorta super hero or something?"

"No, not at all. What you do with them is up to you. And that’s another reason why we came in contact with you." Ramona explained, taking some sort of…Note down on one of the scrap pieces of paper that was kept with the documents. All in English, of course. Armin couldn't read that. Especially not with the somewhat hasty and loose handwriting Mona had. Even one would suspect that a native speaker couldn't quite make out whatever she was saying in that thing. The same thing that now was organized, and slipped into a great deal of other files. Now tapped to straighten them out.

"For all we know, you could've made your way through the streets of this town freezing people's heads into cubes and the police are still looking for someone who fits your description." Mona exhaled. That idea was definitely a less than zero-percent chance in her line of work. Especially when it came to people like this without too much guidance in their lives… It’s happened before, and probably somewhere else again as the two exchanged their conversation. While a silence fell between the two save for the hurried writing of the older of the pair, the only things that could be exchanged at that moment were some awkward sorts of glances on the end of Armin’s own vision. 

He never was the greatest at paying attention in these quiet moments.

The lack of conversation broke, Armin clearing his throat as he gathered himself once again. A Few minutes passing as the both of them had lost one another in their own individual thoughts was plenty enough time to figure out just what he’d ask, considering the situation at hand. This was a woman who knew almost everything about him, or, anything that could be translated into English. There were probably some things either lost or modified here and there if he knew even the slightest about the language conversions.

"So what do you expect out of me, anyway?" He asked. Something vague but still worth a shot into the dark of the entire situation at hand between the two of them. A Lofty and empty sort of question.

But one Mona could easily give an answer to.

“We don’t expect you to be some sort of hero, but, we need you to use that talent of yours for a greater good, of sorts. See- The reason the foundation- Erm, ah, The Speedwagon Foundation…” Armin’s assumption was right, then. The older woman had been working at some sort of offshoot or private company. Though the name didn’t ring a bell to him. Not even the second or even third time in his tired daze.

Mona cleared her throat and began again.

“…The reason we contacted you- Is because your mother is from a long line of people very, very important to us as a whole. Without any contact to her- We decided on you. Both of you have a genetic disposition to abilities that seem otherworldy or right out of fiction. But they’re more than real, in our case. And, you? According to any and all records we have? You got the winning ticket to the lottery.”

…This was still so much to process for Armin. Another company was connected to his family? One his father didn’t even tell him about? Or possibly even know? Things were turning up, flipping on their head once again as soon as Armin thought he figured things out. His brain was even more of a disassembled mess than usual, as any ideological trains had tipped onto their side from curving too hard on their tracks.

“To get to the point…”

The two had been here for some time, letting the hours slip away between them in their own intense conversation and ocular evaluations that pushed business and any professionalism to the wayside, all unsaid. The pale, cool blue light of the Venetian sun had shown through the closed yet sheer curtains, casting an orange glow where the sun truly beamed into the room. Onto Mona, and behind Armin as the amber tint warmed his shoulders just slightly.

“You. Armin. You’re going to be doing something very, very important. Something almost every single family member around your age before you did. Let this be your pass to bring back that fighting spirit inside you. You’ll need it, kid.”

‘Fighting spirit’, huh…?

Something like that, and the way he was spoken to…

Armin couldn’t help but crack a smile, and even his tired eyes shimmered with a slight excitement for once in his recent years.

Staying up all night to be invited to some sort of prophetic call of destiny? Sounded like some protagonist kind of deal to him. Maybe it was time to bring a piece of him back…

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Rewrote this a bit! Mobile onenote hurts.


	3. Meeting the Locals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mona goes on an adventure...!
> 
> ...Does getting lost count as one?

With morning, would of course bring out folk of all sorts. This included Mona, after a brief albeit uncomfortable nap on the couch. Her mind was still clearly on the time of her home country of America, making her feel as if the misty morning air of the city was just a lit-up midnight. Enough time to stay up, and get some rest in around dinner. Or lunch. Whichever time she would truly feel tired, as she was a woman who’d almost always spend her time with such things as extra paperwork or otherwise. The ethic was drilled into her skull like a firm screw that stuck out to everyone else in a worrying fashion.

Though, not many people could tell here, since aside from her flimsy grasp upon the language, Mona blended almost completely into the background. A Little bit of freshening up, and dressing down from her more formal attire had made her look like any other local woman. But the sunglasses from her arrival had stayed. Something about headaches, she’d always say. But it was probably all the coffee and tea that went into her almost every day. And speaking of such things- That’s why she was out at the moment, leaving Armin to rest in bed back at the flat.

To her- The amount of sweets and instant food in Armin’s temporary quarters had…Disgusted her. Staying physically fit to some degree had been a priority of hers. And if it wasn’t Armin’s either? Too bad. The both of them had work to do. And a whole lot. So, she’d take her time. Get back around ten, which gave Armin around six hours of sleep. Or maybe more, if he was the heavy type in regards to rest. The objective today it seemed, was to get something more substantial into Armin's body, then inform him of the tasks at hand. Mona knew the New Yorker in her didn't want to cut any corners or dance around things entirely too much. Especially not with someone- Who she assumed- Was just a bit possibly unstable. A Bit less mature and more of a swing on his moods than any others she had worked with in the past. 

…But maybe it was just because the stand users she knew were more cunning. More planned out. Some had even served time. She was no therapist or true federal agent. Just a woman driven by the mysteries of the world, and a search for the reason and logic behind it all from day one. And a promise that her criminology degree wouldn't be wasted in a city's police department that only believed in the world that was visible to an average eye. Amongst many other things. But the thoughts had to be pushed aside for now as the sun rose higher into the sky, the winding paths of Venice and it's canals sending her on a maze-like run. Without wishing to waste data on a rather consuming GPS app on her smartphone, and her paper-thin means of communications, Mona could only curse at herself. Getting lost inside her on thoughts was always her downfall when it came to new places.

Especially one older than she could comprehend at the moment. Not all cities were bustling, car-filled lightshows, after all. And not all of New York was either. The woman slumped against a wall, hands in the pockets of her sleek, simple black jacket. Resigning herself- Mona took it upon herself to check the time on her phone. While the thing was still in airplane mode just to be safe about data usage, she had already wasted at least two hours wandering on an empty stomach. Her teeth clenched in frustration, her thumb pressing the power button on the side of the device as she slipped it back into her right pocket. It was a quiet enough street that she didn't feel bad or anxious about not moving, and it was early enough anyway not to worry. At least the street here was even enough for the muscle pains in her legs and feet not to act up as they did on the older stones in the city…

"Signora? Sei qui per le dodici e mezzo…?"

But that moment of slowly building anger was interrupted. By a voice. Somewhat deep, a bit smooth, and definitely in a tone that indicated 'employee.' Mona would know it anywhere after the amount of phone calls and service-related tasks she took over the course of her life. Retail, being the worst, and- Oh. Yeah. Someone was talking to her. She looked up, tilting her sunglasses down to squint with raised eyebrows and looking upwards with her dark brown eyes that didn't have much of a shine to them. Jet lag, fatigue, explaining to a nineteen year old who probably has enough problems as it is that he has to fix something major. All of those things. Yes, yes. But that voice was definitely directed to her. A Question, by the sound of it. 

"Ah- Uhm…N…Non?" Fuck. That was French. Mona only capped it off with an awkward, toothy smile that seemed to work her neck muscles more than it did her face, moving her sunglasses onto the top of her head as their temples rested upon her ears. Her expression was sort of…Desperate. Makeup smudged a bit, too. It could pass for a smoke-type eyeshadow look, if her mascara wasn't in the mix too. Whoever was talking to her, was, in fact a local. They spoke fast enough. She should at least pick up some form of context due to the local language's Spanish similarities. Mona had to think fast, here. Especially since whoever was talking to her was probably a man around the same age as her. Maybe older, from how he spoke.

"Mm, Francia?" 

And the owner of the voice was revealed to Mona. At least his hair color. A Striking, pale reddish-pink. Possibly fading from a shade of blonde. N…No. This couldn't be who was talking to her. He seemed so…Small! So thin! But he approached closer, causing quite the change in perspective. This revealed that…He was the same height as Mona. Even wearing a light layer of makeup. Applied in a way that even the most experienced of club-girls in NYC couldn't achieve in their entire lives. Natural, yet with a bit of shimmer. How in the world was there a foundation that didn't cover up freckles, but applied that much coverage? Mona just shook her head, observing the man in front of her. To say the least? He was pretty. Albeit, as she already observed a bit frail in the limbs and torso. Couldn't really be mistaken for a woman, either. And he made sure of that despite what looked to be an intense regime of self-care and beautification. 

It was only now, somehow, that Mona had realized she was leaning up against the wall of a local salon that seemed to do everything from hair, makeup, and nails. Perhaps the scents of the city back home had desensitized her to the overly clean scent of establishments like this.

"…Oh! American, then!" He laughed, showing a bit more friendliness than Mona had expected. He cleared his throat, beginning again. As in his hands- As Mona had been too busy paying attention to this man's face- Was a clipboard. An empty sheet of paper, save for a couple of crossed out time slots with names in them. "Now, now. I'm SURE you're not here for the twelve-thirty appointment. You thought you were in another country for a second, after all!" A Joke that only elicited an awkward, but relieved laugh from the other party. "You didn't fit the description for an older woman insisting that she brought her little purse dog in with her. Either she's late, or she's ghosting out on us…"

He tapped his chin with the end of the pen, in his other hand, before placing it's tip mere centimeters away from the paper clamped down to the board. "Did you want to make an appointment for two, perhaps? My mother doesn't know English as well as I do, so, please, ask for my name- Foli! See, two is when my coffee break ends, and two-fifteen is when I get back to work at the latest, and…" So…That was his name? Somewhat fitting. A Bit unique. But he was rambling, now. Mona raised her hands, as if to tell him to stop or slow down. Foli, withdrew the pen from the page, looking back up at his possible client with wide, aqua-green eyes. "…Was that a no then?" 

"N-- Yes. Of course it was a no. I'm sorry- But, I'm…Kinda lost here. I Need coffee, food, and maybe an ATM. You obviously live around here, so, I'm…Gonna need your help, Foli. That’s what you said, right?" And Foli nodded, blinking as his expression then relaxed ever so slightly. If this was the person Mona had to trust with going to and from places for the day, at least for a while? So be it. First priority was making sure she didn't pass out in the middle of the street. Too many horror stories from Speedwagon Foundation employees visiting here during the mid-2000s. "And you said coffee break, so, I'm assuming you're off now if this lady doesn't show up?" 

"Well, yes. I Am! Now, your name…?" Foli, was almost as straight to the point as Mona. Albeit if you covered that point in flower petals, perfume and a sprinkling of glitter. He was definitely willing to put the charm on as he placed the clipboard in the front pocket of the apron her wore over some casual clothing- Grey jeans, and a white sweater with thin and far-apart stripes- which he only appeared to wear for work, considering the possible hair dye and bleach stains around the legs of his pants. But observing Foli had to wait until later, as Mona took Foli's much paler hand into a firm handshake. His skin was…Soft. Egh. It felt like she shouldn't be even touching him with how much work he put into looking like this.

"Mona." It was a first name basis for now. Thankfully. Gave her time to make up a nickname just in case things went south. About a six to seven percent chance, though. Since despite everything- Foli seemed incredibly normal. A Bit upbeat, but, that was customer service. They could probably already tell they shared a connection on that level…

"Right, then! Mona. Nice name! Easy to remember for me. Now, if you'll give me just a second…" Foli let go, pulling the apron over his head and hanging it loosely on the unused chalkboard sign beside the door of the salon, clipboard in the pocket and all. He reached out to the glass door, opening it with a firm pull as he shouted to the inside of the building. Two other women were inside, one in a chair, and the other working on her hair. From what Mona could tell from this angle- The working one was…Well. She didn't know. Until Foli answered her question.

"MAMA! Io esco! Cibo! Caffè! A presto!" And, he let go of the door without waiting to hear a response. It shut softly enough, but it felt like a slam. At least in Mona's own perspective. Foli turned back to the woman, hands on his hips. "…This way, then! Lets get moving!"

And Foli was off down the street, definitely in the direction of a local café.

…It was worth as a chance of any to follow.


End file.
